A Fitting Place
by sashadavidovna
Summary: Ginny starts over. Past HarryGinny, GinnyDean.


**A Fitting Place **

I liked Egypt immediately. I get kind of irritated by people who say it rains all the time in England. It doesn't. I know perfectly well what a blue sky looks like. All the same, when you're strolling through the streets of Cairo, or flying across the desert sands, you'd almost think it was an entirely different sun.

In Egypt, the air shimmers with its heat and everything looks brighter and clearer, somehow. It's cliched to say it, I suppose, but it made me think of the most perfect jewels, fiery like the sapphires ad rubies we saw at that Muggle museum Dad took us to in London, with all the crowns. And the air! Okay, it wasn't so nice in Cairo, with all those horrid Muggle machines belching smoke and fumes. Honestly! They're worse than dragons. At least dragons are pretty. But out in the desert... out there, it was like the air had been burned clean.

It seemed like a fitting place for a new beginning.

I never thought I'd see someone like Fleur living in a tent. She always seemed so ... French, I suppose. Expensive taste and all that. But she looked happier than I'd ever seen her, even though she positively hummed with all the sun and sand and dust repelling charms she kept on herself, and she wore the silliest looking hat I'd ever seen, big and floppy, to keep off the sun. I must have looked surprised, because Bill rolled his eyes and winked at me while she was kissing my cheeks. He looked like he could have used a few of her spells himself, though. His face was as red as his hair, or would have been if his hair hadn't been gray with dust. I could practically hear Mum spinning in her grave. Of course, what with everything that had happened, Bill looking like some sort of wild man or something would have been the least of her worries, really. It was sort of surprising she hadn't resurrected herself and marched off with her sleeves rolled up around her elbows to fix the world, since it clearly couldn't run itself properly without her. I wished she would.

Training didn't start off boring, exactly. It's very hard to be bored when you're in the dark, slithering through tunnels so narrow they're scraping your stomach and your shoulder blades simultaneously. I thought I'd be cracking curses, though, not just tagging along to supply the light while Bill and Fleur did, so I got impatient maybe a little too quickly with all the talk about poison air and spells to test the strength of the ceiling and those useful sorts of things. In retrospect, it wasn't so bright of me.

Forgetting to test the strength of the ceiling was how I managed to get trapped in that lovely little passage in the first place, when the ceiling collapsed after I stepped a little too far into an interesting-looking side chamber. By "lovely," of course, I meant "hot, stuffy, and pitch black." Thank goodness I didn't drop my wand when the ceiling started crashing down around my ears.

Bill had only told me about a thousand times to stay put if we ever became separated by something like that but one of the first things I noticed when the dust cleared and I got my wand lit again was a door. This created a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, there was no way Bill, Fleur, and the others had missed that rock fall, so they were probably already clearing away the rocks looking for me and I didn't want me not to be there when they got through. On the other hand, the map we had of the pyramid didn't show a door there, and my wand readings said it was real and the air behind it was fine. Dusty, but fine.

Slytherins always like to sneer that curiosity killed the Gryffindor and it galls me to admit it, but they're right. Not literally, fortunately. At least, not that time. But really, could _you _ have resisted?

"_Maledictus revelus_," I whispered, and gasped as the passage filled with light. Silvery threads were growing like vines from the floor on either side of the door, twining together as they grew taller and taller, finally forming themselves into the shape of two cobras. The light shimmered so that the eyes, really just two dark gaps in the structure of the spell, appeared to blink. Say what you will about the ancient Egyptians, they knew how to weave a curse. "You would do old Salazar proud," I told the snakes, but they just blinked at me again, and I shrugged and inched forward towards the door, with my wand outstretched.

The snakes coiled back sharply, taut and ready to strike, and I jumped backwards. "Okay, then. No getting too close." Slowly, I reached forward with my wand outstretched, aiming for the single thread that made up the point of the tail, allowing the power to build up in my wand. When it was ready, I whispered "_Ligamens extractum,_" and _yanked._ Power surged out, ripping the thread from the body of the spell and causing the cobra to collapse, writhing. "_Sectum capitus_," I cried, more confidently now, slicing the curse's head from its body. It writhed a few seconds more and then vanished in an explosion of sparks. "One down," I grinned to myself. I dispatched the other the same way and checked the door again for secondary curses. "_Alohomora_," I said, and the door creaked open, ancient air rushing out in a stale, hot stream. Cautiously, I stepped inside the room, my wand outstretched.

"Buggering boggarts," I gasped, when I saw what was inside. The room was filled with coffers of grain, ancient loaves of bread, and other food offerings for the dead man to take with him to the afterlife, but the real treasure was on the walls. They were covered with the most beautiful scenes of life along the Nile – farmers and fishermen at work, playing children, hunting nobles and drilling soldiers. As I stared in awe, Bill's voice drifted down the passage.

"Ginny! Ginny, are you okay?"

"Bill!" I shouted back. "Come and see!"

Bill was _almost _ too amazed not to fuss over the various scrapes and bumps I'd picked up when the ceiling collapsed. Almost. I told him I was 22 years old and perfectly capable of healing myself, thank you very much, but he insisted on hauling me off to the medical tent as soon as he could bring himself to leave the friezes. Fortunately, as soon as I was safely being fussed over by the nurse, he disappeared.

I didn't find out why until the next morning, when the nurse finally gave me leave to return to the main camp and to work. Bill came bounding over as soon as he saw me, all Gryffindor enthusiasm. Sometimes I think old Greyback didn't turn my brother so much into a sorta-werewolf as a sorta-were-Golden Retriever.

"I've found an artist to duplicate those paintings you found yesterday," he said. "When he's done, we'll publish! Come on," he said, dragging me off towards the tent they used as headquarters. "He's an old friend of yours, actually."

"An old friend of mine?" I said, panting a little as I tried to keep up with his considerably longer-legged strides. He dragged me into the tent, where we screeched to a halt behind the artist, who turned at the sudden flash of light from outside.

"Dean!" I exclaimed.

"I told you he was an old friend," Bill said smugly. "Dean, we'll be heading into the pyramid in about half an hour. Will you be ready?"

"Sure, Bill," he said, an enormous brindled cat emerging from behind his legs to rub itself against Bill's trousers.

"Good man," Bill said. "I'm off to get the equipment set up then." He winked at me and disappeared.

I realized my mouth was still hanging open and shut it quickly as Dean turned back to me. "Hi, Ginny," he said sheepishly. "Long time no see."

"Yeah. Wow." The cat trotted over and sniffed experimentally before rubbing its head against my legs. "You didn't used to have a cat," I said.

"Oh, he's not really mine," he said.

"Mrow!" said the cat, glaring at him.

"Does he know that?" I grinned, scratching it under the chin.

"Questionable." Dean smiled back, shyly.

There was a pause. "So, ah, what brings you to Egypt?" I asked. "I had no idea you were here too."

Dean scuffed his foot into the sand, looking uncomfortable. "After the war and what happened to Ha- what happened, I wanted to get away from it all. Ron was always raving about Egypt, so I asked him to ask Bill to find me a job."

"He didn't tell me."

"Maybe he figured you wouldn't be interested?" He shrugged. "Dunno. Anyway, I'm working just down the road with a Muggle archaeological team, doing restoration work on the friezes in the pyramid."

"You're working in pyramids as a Muggle?" I exclaimed. "Is that safe?"

He shrugged. "My pyramid's curse-free. It was originally excavated by Abu Shitaim, the Father of Curses."

"Who?"

"Radcliffe Emerson, one of the famous British Muggle archaeologists from the turn of the century. The local Egyptians called him Abu Shitaim because of his extensive and, er, interesting vocabulary, but I think he may have been a wizard without realizing it. Nobody's ever found a curse or spell of any kind in any of the places he excavated. He categorically refused to believe in them and the, um, force of his personality was such that it appears the curses decided he must be right and deactivated themselves."

"Wow, I wish they'd do that for Bill and me," I said.

He grinned. "Bill says the same thing. I'm working for one of Emerson's great-nephews, actually. The cat's his. He says the family has always kept cats. It's another reason I think they were actually wizards."

"Where is the cat, by the way?" It had disappeared.

Dean shrugged. "Off doing catty things. Who knows? He'll be back. He knows this area like the back of his paw."

I smiled. "I suppose he would. Do you?"

"Pretty well, yeah."

I plunged forward before I could chicken out. "Maybe you could show me around sometime. I've been so busy with training I haven't really had time to explore."

Dean looked surprised. "Um, sure."

"I'd like that."

He blinked. "You would?"

"Just don't try to help me through any portrait holes," I teased. "I'm sorry about that. I was kind of an ass."

He swallowed. "I was too, really."

"It's the hormones, I think."

"Probably."

"Well, I need to go change if I'm going to come along," I said. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Wait!" he said. I turned back to look at him and he swallowed hard. "This Saturday okay?"

Dean showed up Saturday evening wearing what I am sorry to say was probably his best suit, not that I was dressed any better. Living in the desert isn't kind to clothes, even when you're a wizard. Only Fleur's seemed to resist the elements. I was starting to think Veelas must have some sort of magical force field protecting them from anything and everything that might make them look less than perfect.

"I thought we could have a picnic," he said, lifting up a hefty basket to show me.

"Of course," I said, taking his hand. We walked together down the dusty road that connected the Gringotts camp with that of the archaeologists. The sun was setting and the western sky was on fire when we reached his camp, but he led me through it without stopping and straight to the base of the pyramid.

"I hope you don't mind a little climbing," he said. "I'd offer you a broom, but I'm afraid the Muggles would see."

"I like climbing." I smiled. "I've been doing a lot of it lately. Rappelling too. It's almost as fun as Quidditch."

"I miss Quidditch," he said. He darted a glance around to make sure we were alone before pulling out his wand and quickly levitating the basket up a few of the enormous stone blocks.

"I'm glad hanging around the Father of Curses's descendants hasn't deactivated your wand," I panted, pulling myself up the bottom layer of blocks.

He glanced sideways at me and grinned. "Me too!"

It was a long, dusty climb to the top of the pyramid, but when we reached it, the whole valley stretched out below us and the stars filled the sky as innumerable as the sand that stretched to the horizon. "It's beautiful," I said.

"I thought you'd like it," Dean said, spreading out the blanket and beginning to pull dishes from the basket. He'd outdone himself with succulent lamb pilaf and stuffed dates, warm pita bread and several of the varied Egyptian salads. We finished with a bowl of ripe pomegranates, Dean laughing at me as I grimaced at the sour taste and then took more.

"You know the legend about these, right?" I asked, settling back to peel my second with my head in his lap.

"Persephone? Yeah," he said. "That wasn't why I brought them. I just like them." His teeth crunched down audibly on a seed and he winced. "Rock-like seeds and all."

"You're supposed to spit them out," I told him, demonstrating. I didn't grow up with six brothers for nothing. It disappeared in a graceful arc over the edge of the pyramid.

He shrugged. "They don't usually bother me."

"Does anything bother you?" I teased.

"Believe it or not, yes."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I went back to peeling the pomegranate. A little silence fell as we ate. "Do you miss England?" I asked finally.

"Not as much as I expected," he said. "When they come for you, you know, it's all oh, how wonderful, magic is real after all and you can do it. They don't tell you about the madmen who want you dead because you didn't grow up knowing it was real."

"I'm sorry."

He glanced down at me. "For what? It's not your fault."

"I don't know, being part of it?"

"It's how you were born," he shrugged. "Anyway, it didn't save anybody in the end, did it?"

"No. No, it didn't."

"Why are we talking about this anyway?" He smiled crookedly. "It's over and done, now, and look how beautiful the stars are."

I sat up. "I was serious, the other day, about being sorry."

"I know. I was too."

I wasn't lying. For a long time, I'd been too busy to feel ashamed of how I'd treated him in that last flaming row. Busy being in love, busy being terrified, busy being in mourning. After awhile, though, I wasn't so busy anymore. You can't be crazy with grief forever, and that's when everything started to come back, when I realized I'd really loved Dean after all and had looked for excuses to push him away because I thought I loved someone else better.

Maybe I did, in a way. I grew up loving Harry, so it was only natural that when I finally met him I would love him in life as I did in legend. But Harry was always first and foremost a hero and heroes don't love like ordinary people love. They're too busy having a destiny. Harry lived like a hero and died like one too and in the end there was nothing I could do about it.

I didn't tell anyone, though, not even Hermione, that Harry wasn't my first. That was Dean, quiet, gentle Dean, with his beautiful hands and warm smile. Like I said, Harry had a destiny. When one has a destiny, one does not have a whole lot of time to think about also maybe having some sex before one sacrifices one's life to save the world. Dean, though, Dean was human like me and the interesting thing was, even when we'd broken up and I'd started dating Harry, I'd never regretted that night. I wondered if he did. It had all happened so suddenly, kissing on the window seat after curfew one minute and tearing at each other's clothes the next. Ah, teenagers.

Twenty year olds too, I guess.

"Kiss and make up?" I suggested innocently.

**Author's Note**: This was written for lizabethy for the hploveletters fic exchange on LiveJournal. Ginny, Bill, Dean and their world are owned by JKR and various publishers; Radcliffe Emerson and_ his_ world are owned by Elizabeth Peters and various other publishers. I've been wanting to write a crossover between the two for some time and had a great deal of fun with this one.


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